


Rain and Daisies

by RoseIsRelatable



Category: ONEWE (Band)
Genre: Awkwardness, Gen, I Don't Even Know, Short One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-26
Updated: 2020-03-26
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:40:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23321827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RoseIsRelatable/pseuds/RoseIsRelatable
Summary: In which Harin has a crush on the girl at the coffee shop.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 3





	Rain and Daisies

All his life, Ju Harin was used to hearing two things. The first was that he had a beautiful name. Indeed, when people heard his name before learning anything else about him, they assumed he was a girl. Once they met him, he heard the second thing. “You’re handsome like an actor,” they all said. They marveled at his chiseled cheekbones, strong nose, and prominent eyebrows. They swooned over the sharply angled eyes that would have made him look cold and cruel if he didn’t smile so much. They stared, mouths agape, at his perfectly symmetrical features. 

Harin is not an actor. He wraps his blistered, bleeding palms in bandages, picks up the drumsticks that caused all the damage, and smiles through the pain, playing the same song always just once more. It feels like days since he’s had any sleep. He counts the beats leading into the next song and his bandmates fall into sync with him. 

Harin was supposed to be a doctor, a lawyer, or a businessman. He’s none of those. He was supposed to be a successful husband and father. He’s neither of those, at least, not yet. Someday, he tells himself. His mother presses the issue every time he goes home. She wants to meet the beautiful grandchildren he will make someday.

Harin is a drummer. As a teen, he befriended two other boys, a bit younger than himself, and the trio set out to start a rock band. Harin, Hyungu, and Giwook didn’t form their band with the goal of blowing up and getting huge. For a while, they were just happy to have an audience when they went busking. They didn’t mind keeping after-school jobs to pay for their equipment. Giwook was a cashier. Hyungu was a delivery boy for a local fried chicken restaurant. Harin made hotteok at a street food stand. They collected their pay and maintained their instruments as best they could. The weekends were for busking. Giwook added his best friend Dongmyeong to the mix because Dongmyeong could sing. Later, they found an older boy with a honey voice, seemingly bestowed by gods. That was Yonghoon. Once they were five, they were complete.

They don’t give all the money their music earns to charity anymore. They still give, but there’s little left after the recording company takes its cut. The boys still have to eat.

They finish their song and Harin checks the clock. The day is creeping to evening much faster than he wants it to. This fervent practice is preparation for the tour they are embarking on tomorrow. It’s Harin’s last chance for a while. He hopes to be set free before the coffee shop closes. Yonghoon calls for the same song, once more, from the top. Harin wipes sweat from his brow and counts them in again. He can still feel the impact of sticks against skins, even through the bandages. It stings. Harin is a drummer, and it’s simply an occupational hazard.

As his bandmates set down their instruments and shut down mixers and amplifiers, Harin rests his drumsticks across the top of his snare drum. He heaves himself off the stool behind the drums, hilariously known as a throne, and the boys converge in the center of the room to discuss dinner. Harin knows what he wants to do for the evening.

He flips his hood up to block the rain as he wanders the labyrinth of Seoul’s city streets. He tucks his hands, still wrapped in bandages, in the pouch at the front of his hoodie. His long legs carry him faster than many others on the same sidewalk. He passes street food vendors. The smell reminds him of his old job and he smiles softly, thinking of the ajumma who had hired him and taught him everything he needed to know about selling fresh, hot food to hungry people on the streets. He had felt a little guilty when he left that job. She seemed sad to see him go. She asked where all her customers would go once her handsome young man wasn’t there to charm them into buying just one more treat. If he wasn’t in a hurry, Harin would stop for an egg bun.

The bell above the door jingles like it’s happy to see him. Harin orders himself a coffee and a croissant sandwich with ham, Swiss cheese, and onions. He likes this little Western-style coffee shop. The staff is friendly and the music on the speakers overhead is always peaceful. He takes his coffee to a seat by the window and watches people walk by outside, most with umbrellas in hand. His sandwich is delivered to him. It’s fresh, the golden, flaky croissant exhaling steam. They put a spear-cut pickle on the plate this time. That’s different from before. He sips his coffee and scans the room. If he looks too eager, other patrons will think he’s waiting for someone.

Harin  _ is  _ waiting for someone. He sees her almost every time he visits this coffee shop. No one has quite the same aura as her. When he sits in this seat, she always breezes past him to the counter, smelling like daisies. Her hair is ash brown. It reaches the middle of her back and is pin-straight and glossy. She dresses in torn jeans and flannel shirts. Her lips are full. Her chocolate brown eyes sparkle under what he’s sure are natural double-creased eyelids. A few tiny freckles dot her button nose. She’s cute. Harin likes cute.

She’s vibrant and outgoing too. She seems to be friends with everyone who works at the coffee shop. She doesn’t even order anything. They punch something into the till, she pays, and they hand her the exact same thing, week after week. She’s caught Harin staring at her a few times, but it never seems to bother her. She smiles at him, then breezes past again on her way out the door.

Harin gives up on seeing her today. He bites into his sandwich, happy that it’s still warm. He nibbles at the pickle a little. The bell on the door sings again. Harin ignores it. He feels the breeze kicked up by someone walking confidently past him. That’s when he smells it.  _ Daisies. _

Harin’s eyes snap to the counter. She’s there, long hair tied back in a ponytail. She says something to the cashier. He laughs. She laughs. She hands over some cash and, instead of waiting for a to-go order, sits down at a table near the counter. Harin all but inhales the rest of his sandwich and sets the plate on the counter for the staff. He hesitates before slowly making his way to her table. Harin is not shy. He’s not socially awkward. He’s more awkwardly social. He’s not afraid to talk to strangers. He just worries his goofy personality will scare them away. His heartbeat feels like a jazz drummer has taken up residence in his chest. He takes a deep breath. 

“Excuse me,” he says, standing next to her chair. She looks up and smiles at him.

She’s seen him in here before, but never really took a good look. He’s tall, with skin the same color as her caramel macchiato. His handsome face makes her wonder if he’s a model. His short, dark hair sticks up messily. It looks soft. “Can I help you?” she asks the stranger.

“I was just wondering…” Harin hesitates. He knows he wants to talk to her. He just doesn’t know what to say. “I mean, I see you in here a lot and…”

“If you’re asking if I have a boyfriend, I do,” she says, pointing to one of the baristas.

“Ah,” Harin sighs. “I see. That… that makes sense. I-I’m sorry. Thank you for your time. Excuse me while I crawl back into my hole.”

Harin backs away, bowing repeatedly. He knows his face is beet red. He feels like a real fool. He walks home through the rain, not bothering with his hood this time. He stops along the way for an egg bun.

His bandmates greet him as he steps into their dorm. They ask him about his trip to the coffee shop. Harin doesn’t want to talk about it. 

Harin knows there will be another girl. And probably another after that. For now, it’s time to focus on being a rock star. Harin is a drummer.

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry. I wanted her to fall for Harin, but she had other plans while I was writing her.  
> I hope you liked it!  
> \- Rose


End file.
